


one last kiss while while we're far too young to die

by mundaneanarchy



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, During Canon, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Movie(s), Pre-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundaneanarchy/pseuds/mundaneanarchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt and Hermann meet, fall in love, hate each other, lose each other, find each other, kiss drunkenly, save/destroy the world, and get married. All in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one last kiss while while we're far too young to die

Newt is faintly aware that he’s being spoken to diligently by the man to his right (or the “tall drink of water” to his right, as he had classified him as in an impromptu text to his uncle), but can’t seem to pay attention for more than thirty seconds before whipping around and being distracted by something or other that is definitely totally and profoundly awesome. Marshal Pentecost doesn’t seem to mind, carrying on with his dignified tour without a single pause or annoyed glance in Newt’s direction. Newt almost tries twice as hard to pay attention out of admiration of his efforts. Perhaps not twice as hard, but close enough. A pretty good amount, at least.

 

After what seems like ages, they arrive at the main attraction. The K-Science lab.

 

Fuck, he can smell the toxic chemicals and nerdy sweat stains from here. It’s enough to get him hard. Science, man. Jesus.

 

He enters the room just like he has every other room in this crazy goddamn place, with wide doe eyes and his mouth gaping open and his eyebrows practically invading his hairline. As his eyes scan over to the mathematical side of the lab, the grin on his face that could have a crack at blinding the sun turns almost immediately into nothing more than the corners of his mouth falling so low they’re dangerously close to hitting the ground. His jaw drags on the floor and he yells at the sight of that familiar cane and those ugly shoes and that stupid fucking DIY haircut.

 

“No. Fucking. Shit.”

 

Hermann freezes, chalk still poised in hand, and the slow turn towards the door is filled with total and utter dread. His face turns sheet white and the chalk falls from his fingertips. “Christ almighty,” he says softly.

 

Pentecost raises an eyebrow, then looks from Newt to Hermann then back to Newt. “You two know each other?”

 

“Herms?” Newt screeches. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

“I told you never to call me that!” Hermann hisses as he approaches them unevenly. He turns back to Pentecost and says frantically, as if to validate the meaningless sentiment to his superior, “I told him never to call me that.”

 

“Gentlemen,” Pentecost says in a calm but firm voice. “Will this be a problem?”

 

The other scientists are now staring at this newfound spectacle and cowering in their obnoxiously pristine lab coats.

 

“Hell yeah it is!” Newt shouts at the same time Hermann declares, “Undoubtedly!”

 

“Well. In that case,” Pentecost continues, “Get over it. There is a war at bay, and I’m afraid it won’t stop to please your adolescent quibbles. Carry on, Research. Danger ceases for no man.”

 

Once the door is definitely closed and Pentecost is definitely out of earshot, Newt turns back to Hermann and grins and raises his eyebrows. “Dude. I love the way that guy talks.”

 

Hermann recoils as if in response to something disgusting. “I am not your dude. We established that three years ago, Geiszler.”

 

“Hey, man. That’s Dr. Geiszler to you. Actually, that’s Newt to you. Please don’t call me ‘Geiszler’, Herms. I thought we had something so much more special than that.”

 

“Oh, you got your doctorate? Congratulations. Now you can be an illogical imbecile with a degree.”

 

“An illogical imbecile with six degrees, thank you very much.” Newt puffs out his chest and stands up taller; a meaningless action given that no matter how hard he tries he’ll always be tiny in comparison to Hermann. “How’s it been hanging here, Hermie? Been keeping the test tubes warm for me?”

 

“I’d appreciate it if you kept our professional relationship professional, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann snaps. “That includes referring to me by my title and not by whatever pet name you’ve landed on this week.”

 

“Yeah, okay. Good luck with that one, Hermsmeister.” Newt claps Hermann on the shoulder and walks right past him, practically salivating as he approaches the lab table of scientists carefully dissecting kaiju parts.

 

Hermann rolls his eyes and scoffs before storming back to his chalkboard. No use in huffing over some kaiju groupie. He won’t last a week, anyhow.

 

…

 

Much to Hermann’s dismay--and Newt’s delight--Newton Geiszler lasts much more than one week. Over the next few months the K-Science division starts to subtly weaken and thin out. First is Melissa, who Hermann secretly misses because she usually took tea breaks with him, and who Newt misses because she smiled at his lame jokes and could play a pretty serious guitar riff. Next is Calvin, who Hermann misses because he worshipped the ground he walked on and would pick up any chalk he dropped and provide not completely idiotic observations on his math, and who Newt misses because damn, he made good coffee. Next is Jack, who Hermann doesn’t miss because he somehow found a way to include vernacular such as ‘righteous’ and ‘tubular’ into everyday conversation, and who Newt especially doesn’t miss because of that one time they drunkenly made out in a storage closet.

 

The tension in the lab brought on by the knowledge that any moment one of them will be the next to go, like some screwed up game show that includes the fact that they also indirectly hold the fate of the human race in their pasty hands, only adds to the tension between Newt and Hermann.

 

Somehow, while everyone else is working furiously through the fear of being fired, Newt manages to have time to worry about the impending apocalypse and relentlessly annoy Hermann at the same time.

 

This includes, but is not limited to: pranks, nicknames, rumors, lies, tricks, arguments, ridiculous noises, throwing his voice to confuse Hermann (because apparently Newt can do that?), and endlessly referring to him as ‘old coot’ despite the fact that there is only a year’s difference between them.

 

Loathe as Hermann is to admit it, Newton is, miraculously, the most competent scientist in the K-S division and the most hard-working one at that. Every day, consistently, Newt is the last one out the door and the first one in. Hermann has never entered the lab for a day of work and not found Newton hunched over an unidentifiable blue husk or typing furiously at a desktop with one hand while jotting notes down in a notepad simultaneously with the other. Hermann would find time to be disturbed by Newt’s level of commitment if he wasn’t so horribly impressed.

 

This does not stop the fighting.

 

Newt and Hermann fight constantly. Constantly. The other scientists and mathematicians have even purchased ear buds specifically for that reason. Even in the late hours when they’re both tired and busy and stressed, they still toss out abstract, elaborate insults while doing their work. It’s mostly white noise at this point. Something to help move along the process.

 

One particular fight--and don’t ask them how it comes to this, because they’ll end up yelling so loud over each other no one can discern one story from the other--ends with Newt throwing a big, sticky portion of Kaiju tail at the back of Hermann’s head. Hermann whirls around, bright red in the face, and time absolutely freezes in the lab. Every single scientist stops what they’re doing and stares at this point of horrendous contention.

 

“That is it!” Hermann says, shaking with anger. He stomps to the back room and reemerges with a roll of masking tape. He drops to the ground, ignoring the pain in his leg, and starts applying a line of tape to the floor, dividing the room in half. “This,” he yells at the ground, “is my side. And that is your side.”

 

“Aw, Hermie? A forcefield? But how will I be able to hug and kiss the frown off your stupid, old, wrinkly face?”

 

Hermann stands and holds his fists at his sides. “For the last time, Dr. Geiszler, we are the same age!”

 

“Thirty,” Newt points at himself, then at Hermann, “Thirty-one.”

 

“You are insufferable.” Hermann jabs his finger in Newt’s face. “If I find but one Kaiju entrail, one fingernail clipping, one little Kaiju hair on my side of the lab, I swear to high on, you will regret it, Dr. Geiszler.”

 

Newton folds his arms and smirks. “Whatever you say, Hermie-kins.”

 

Hermann splutters out a list of flustered, indistinguishable half-words before flying back to his side of the room, muttering to himself like a madman as he works.

 

…

 

The next day, Hermann finds a crudely drawn treasure map on his lab table. He finds a total of twenty-four pieces of dissected Kaiju on his side of the lab. He screams so hard at Newton his face turns purple and he has a migraine for the rest of the day. Newt laughs so hard he can’t breathe for a full minute and nearly passes out.

 

Newt ends up getting twenty-four official complaints in his file and reprimanded by a very exhausted-looking officer who “has better things to do than solve a childish squabble between two grown men who are supposedly the smartest people in this goddamn Shatterdome”.

 

Totally worth it.

 

…

 

Every day it’s a new fight. Every day it’s another screaming match and a bad English accent on Newt’s end and another embarrassing attempt of Hermann trying to use Newt’s lingo correctly. Every day it’s a proclamation of undying hatred and festering despisal.

 

One morning, though, when Hermann enters the lab he finds Newt passed out on his lab bench. He hurries over, momentarily forgetting his eternal vendetta against the man, and shakes his shoulders.

 

“Newton? Newton! Wake up! Newton!”

 

Newt grunts and buries his face in his arms. Still conscious. Thank god.

 

“Newton, you horrible idiot, wake up, will you? Give me some sign you’re still alive and haven’t inhaled too many Kaiju fumes.”

 

“Mmf, Herms, please--stop--shaking me,” Newt murmurs.

 

“Jesus, God, Newton. You scared the living hell out of me. I thought I might have to carry you out of here in a bodybag.”

 

Newt turns his head to peek his eye out at Hermann. He can’t see it, but he can tell the bastard is grinning behind that stupid arm of his. “You worried about me, Hermie baby?”

 

Hermann ignores the flip his stomach does at this particular nickname and snarls at Newt. “Worried about my leg, you prat. Don’t have the strength to carry you out of here myself.”

 

Newt giggles, which quickly turns into a cough.

 

“That doesn’t sound good. You shouldn’t be here.”

 

“Shut up, Hermann. You’re a doctor, not a doctor.”

 

“You’re delirious. How long have you even been in this infernal laboratory?”

 

“Dunno. What time is it?”

 

“Six AM.”

 

“Shit. Forgot to sleep.”

 

“You forgot to sleep?” Hermann screeches hysterically. “How could you forget to sleep?”

 

“I was busy; lay off. G’ t’ your side. Leave me alone, or I’ll stuff a kaiju tongue down the front of your pants.”

 

Hermann feels his stomach inexplicably clench at that comment. “Come on, Dr. Geiszler. I’ll help you to your room, you weak fool.”

 

“No, Herms!” Newt stays solid as Hermann tries to drag him away. “‘M busy. Got important stuff to do. About to have a breakthrough and everything.”

 

“I’m sure you are, Doctor. Now let’s get up and not make your crippled lab partner demean himself by dragging you by your legs to your apartment.”

 

“D’you just call yourself my lab partner?” Newt laughs. “If anything you’re my lab assistant, Herms.”

 

“I’ll let that one slide because I’m sure there’s some social conduct that forbids me from beating with the physically ailed with a cane,” Hermann grumbles.

 

“Aw. Herms. You’re cute.” Newt ‘boop’s Hermann’s nose and Hermann’s face turns bright red.

 

“Carry your weight, Geiszler, for Christ’s sake.” he stammers.

 

Against all odds, they arrive at Newton’s room. Newt collapses on the bed, face first. Hermann sits at the end of it, a little bit sore and out of breath from the trek.

 

“Thanks, man,” Newt says into his pillow.

 

“Yes, well,” Hermann says trying to summon iciness but instead creates a sort of fondness instead, “You were becoming a burden to look at.”

 

Newt laughs into his pillow and Hermann feels himself smile in response.

 

“I can’t miss work,” Newt groans after a few seconds of silence. “I haven’t missed a day since I started working here.”

 

“I’m sure we’ll all find a way to move on without the crucial input of Newton Geiszler, Mad Scientist.”

 

“You’re funny when you wanna be, Hermie.”

 

“If you say so.” Hermann removes Newt’s shoes and works at flipping him on his side so if he vomits he doesn’t end up choking on it. For the first time, he looks down and sees a hint of color peeking out from the hint of skin that shows as Newt’s shirt rides up. Almost without thinking, he lifts the shirt more. He gapes at it in disbelief.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Newt mutters.

 

“When did you do this?”

 

“What? Oh, the tattoos?” Newt props himself up and forces his shirt down more. His face turns pink. “That’s...they’re not finished. They’re just…”

 

“Are they kaiju?”

 

“No. Ah. I mean. Yeah. Yes. They are.” Newt scratches the back of his neck. “It’s kind of embarrassing. I didn’t want anyone to see them or make fun of them or anything, so I’ve been wearing long sleeves and stuff.”

 

“May I see them?”

 

Newt looks up, alarmed, but slowly sits up, crossing his legs in front of him and sniffling while rolling up his sleeves. Hermann reaches out and traces them absently.

 

“I had forgotten how partial you were to the actual kaiju themselves.”

 

Newt shrugs. “Yamirashi,” he replies and points to the faint outline of a kaiju on his arm, as if that answers anything.

 

Hermann nods in response. “Yamirashi.”

 

It’s a few minutes before Hermann remembers that Newt needs to sleep and he needs to work. On the walk back to the lab, if he closes his eyes for a second too long he can see bursts of colour behind his eyelids and loud patterns winding around pale, bare flesh.

 

…

 

When Newt’s Kaiju Milking Machine is patented and approved by the PPDC, he insists on taking the research division out for a drink. Despite the initial murmurs of resistance, the group reluctantly agrees once Newt announces he’s paying.

 

The get-together-slash-celebration turns, unsurprisingly, into awkward conversation and a few scientists pairing off while others slink off to other corners of the bar and finding someone else to go home with. In the end, it ends up just Newt and Hermann, lazily drunk, lounging on an uncomfortable, out-of-place couch in this lame bar that is trying too hard to be a club.

 

“I didn’t think you’d’ve stayed this long,” Newt admits.

 

“Well, you know,” Hermann says, his words slurring only slightly. “I suppose I have to monitor you. Wouldn’t want you to stumble off into some sewer somewhere and leave me with no one to argue with but Carlos, who probably doesn’t even know how to solve the Pythagorean Theorem.”

 

Newt snorts at that one. “How noble of you.”

 

“Plus, if I make sure you don’t drink too much, we won’t have to have a repeat of the sick day fiasco. I really do despise supporting you.”

 

“You’re not doing a very good job.” Newt shakes his beer at Hermann. “This is my fifth.”

 

“Then I guess we’ll have to support each other.” Hermann taps his beer against Newt’s and tips it back. Newt watches him with the slightest bit of lust in his eyes before shaking any inappropriate thoughts away. He stares at his beer thoughtfully.

 

Hermann looks at him with an expression that could almost be mistaken as a smile. “This is the quietest I think I’ve ever seen you, Dr. Geiszler.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It’s strange to see you not screeching on about something unimportant.”

 

“‘Unimportant’? You think my work is ‘unimportant’?”

 

“I didn’t mean your work. I meant about me.”

 

Newt cocks his head at Hermann. “Why do you think I’m always yelling at you?”

 

Hermann laughs, almost bitterly, and it makes Newt’s stomach drop just a bit. “Because you hate me.”

 

“What? No I don’t.”

 

“Yes, you do!” Hermann says, a little louder than he normally would. Loud enough to attract a couple of stares. Thankfully, he’s drunk enough not to care. “The first time we met you called my views on the Kaiju misguided and embarrassing to scientists everywhere!”

 

“Playful banter.”

 

“You call me names and mock my methods and ideas and go over my head and demean me in front of Pentecost and criticize every single thought I dare to vocalize--”

 

“Dude,” Newt says, smiling at Hermann like he’s the biggest idiot on the planet. “I worship you. Do you know how many of your papers I’ve read? All of them. Every single stinking, boring one. Every letter you sent me when I was a kid was like Christmas morning. I think you’re brilliant, Herms. I love you, man.”

 

Hermann frowns huffily and looks the other way. “You have a very particular way of showing it.”

 

“I can’t believe you think I’ve hated you all these years,” Newt laughs into his drink. “You are so dense, man. For the smartest guy on the planet, wow, are you stupid sometimes.”

 

“You can stop insulting me any time now.”

 

“This makes so much more sense. To think, I just assumed you hated me because I was way too forward about flirting with you all this time. And you think it’s because I hated you. Jesus Christ. I really gotta up my game.”

 

Hermann turns his head, alarmed, and stares at Newton. “What? Flirting with me?”

 

“Hell yeah, man. Can’t believe you didn’t know. Since the very first moment we met.”

 

“I had no idea…”

 

“‘Course you didn’t. You’re an idiot.”

 

“I’m no more of an idiot than you are.”

 

“Well, then, I guess we’re both pretty stupid.”

 

Hermann considers this and nods, bringing the glass to his lips with a shaky hand. When he sets it back down on his knee, he glances over to find Newt just looking at him, with that moronic, dazed smile on his face again and a look in his eyes like he’s looking at something holy or heroic or breathtaking. Hermann squirms in his seat.

 

“Newton--” he starts to say, before Newt cuts him off by wrapping his fingers around his neck.

 

“Shut up, Hermann,” he whispers before dragging him into a kiss.

 

It’s drunk and sloppy and rushed but, god, it’s nice. Newt is a nice kisser, Hermann decides. Not that he has a ton of experience in this area, but he can guess. His lips are soft and taste like cherry chapstick underneath his and he can taste bitter alcohol on Newt’s tongue but he doesn’t care as long as he keeps doing that thing with his hand he’s doing against Hermann’s neck. He threads his hands through Newt’s hair, even if it’s just the thin tendrils at the back of his head, and makes a little sound of appreciation into Newt’s mouth.

 

“Herms,” Newt sighs into Hermann’s mouth, and for once he doesn’t even mind.

 

…

 

They don’t speak for a month.

 

The other scientists don’t know if they’ve just run out of things to argue about, or if they’d both lost their vocal boxes in a freak accident, or if it’s divine intervention, but they refuse to care. For the first time in a two years there is peace and quiet in their hectic lab.

 

Meanwhile, while there was peace in the lab, there was war in both Hermann and Newt’s minds.

 

Every day is a dance of avoiding each other. Avoiding taking breaks at the same time, avoiding leaving or entering at the same time, avoiding being left alone together. Avoiding having to talk about that one night of celebration-slash-destruction.

 

They become so exclusively invested in ignoring each other they somehow seem to miss that their team is slowly dropping off, one by one.

 

It’s a miracle they both manage to stay employed given that their quality of work drops drastically without a healthy source of competition and motivation and with such a distraction weighing them down all the time.

 

Or maybe it’s not a miracle.

 

Maybe it’s a disaster.

 

…

 

They start fighting again, slowly but surely.

 

It’s like those couples you hear about, where they start having sex again to rekindle the flame and it’s horrid and awkward and uncomfortable but it’s still familiar enough and, hey, it gets the job done.

 

Not that they’re a couple.

 

Definitely not a couple.

 

…

 

Tendo gets Newt drunk one night and coaxes it out of him, forces him to spill why he’s been so weird and quiet and fucking normal lately, bro. And Newt tells all, like, all. He admits how they kissed a few months ago and Hermann tasted like cheap beer and hard candies and how he made the most delicious sounds against his tongue and the way his skin felt like heaven underneath his fingertips. He admits how he fights with him--he provokes him--because he’s fascinated by his mental process and he just wants to digest every bit of knowledge he has to offer. He admits how nine years ago he started corresponding with Hermann, right after K-Day, and immediately got the most monster crush on him without even a trace of resistance. He admits how he met Hermann and they ended up getting kicked out of a Starbucks for shouting too loudly at each other about kaiju and how they parted ways angry but truthfully all Newt really wanted to do was punch him in the face real quick and then kiss the bruises that he left. He wanted to cut Hermann open and dissect him like his favorite kaiju and show him while he was still conscious all the parts he loved about him. He wanted to wrap himself around Hermann so tightly he choked him with the most undeniable amounts of adoration.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Tendo says, staring at Newt like he’s just opened a vault he didn’t even want the code to, “Thank Christ you’re a tiny little nerd, man, because you would make the scariest fucking serial killer.”

 

…

 

There’s five of them in the lab, and then there’s four, and then there’s three, and then Aanya gets fired and after returning to pick up her things with a slightly trembling chin, Newt stares at the door solemnly.

 

“Shit,” he says, shaking slightly. “And then there were two.”

 

“She was the brightest one in here. I even regarded her as brighter than me. How could they have fired her before me?”

 

“Don’t feel bad, dude.”

 

“I don’t. Of course I don’t. I just--it’s just strange, is all.”

 

“Maybe it’s ‘cause they know we’re the dynamic duo, is all.” Newt forces a weak smile at Hermann and he slits his eyes at Newt. Newt’s smile drops quickly from his face and he stares down at his shoes. After a beat, he asks quietly, “D’you think it’ll be just us from now on? Or--or do you think--do you think they’ll--”

 

“No use dwelling on indefinites.” Hermann stands up straighter and hobbles back to his wall of chalkboard. “All we can do is get to work.”

 

“RIght.” Newt swallows the lump in his throat and turns back to his specimen.

 

…

 

Newt finishes his tattoos.

 

And if maybe he gets an extra small one on of the letter “H” the inside of his ring finger after a night of a touch too much vodka with the Kaidanovskys, no one has to know.

 

...

 

It’s 2025 somehow or other and it’s five years since Newt joined the PPDC and it’s three years since Newt and Hermann first kissed and it’s twelve years since Newt first knew he loved Hermann and it’s one day since Pentecost announced the Jaeger Programme is being debunked.

 

Newt is wired--Newt is all over the place. Newt is bouncing off the walls and he’s twenty-six again and he’s fresh-faced and wide-eyed and bushy-tailed and there are more kaiju than he could possibly keep up with (a figure of speech--of course he can keep up) and he’s alive, god he’s never been so alive.

 

Hermann is less rambunctious but he definitely is more excited, more biting and jovial with his insults and willing to argue with more fervor and initiative and he’s genuinely happier; he’s smiling when he thinks Newt isn’t looking (Newt is always looking) and isn’t totally avoiding everyone’s gaze anymore.

 

It’s almost as if they need the whole world to crash and burn around them to finally see each other.

 

…

 

Newt drifts with a kaiju and Hermann fucking hates him for it.

 

He grabs his stupid face and pulls that stupid contraption off his stupid head and nearly breaks every limb in his stupid body running to Pentecost for help.

 

Stupid, stupid fucking idiot.

 

…

 

Newt nearly gets killed by a kaiju twice and he thinks as he’s running for his life from the thing he loves most how fucking ironic this all is, really.

 

…

 

Hermann and Newt drift together and it’s eye contact and it’s capitulation and it’s an apology and it’s holding his hand and it’s You’d do that with me and it’s total mind-numbing vomit-inducing bliss.

 

…

 

They’re standing in a crowded control room surrounded by the most frightened, brilliant people in the world and all they can see is each other.

 

Newt is grabbing the mic and saying words he won’t remember in ten minutes and all he can think is If we save the world and I become a rock god I want you to be there every step of the way.

 

Hermann is yelling something at the Jaeger pilots and thinking If you achieve world acclaim and renowned fame and make me your roadie I’ll ring your neck with your precious guitar strings.

 

And Newt has to stifle his laughter because this is the end of the world and this is nothing to make light of but god, if he just doesn’t care whether the world ends right now or in billions of years because either way he’s got Hermann Gottlieb at his side to deal with this awful, horrible existence for the next ten minutes at the very least.

 

…

 

They’re rock stars and they’re adonises and they probably won’t be in the history books but fuck, they’ll be probably be in the footnotes which is good enough for the both of them.

 

Hermann is inching closer and closer to Newt, just praying to god for some sort of acknowledgement that he didn’t make all this up, some sort of reassurance he’s not made a total and complete arse of himself, and Newt’s got his arm around him and it’s a hug and that’s nice and then it’s more than a hug and it’s Newt’s fingernails digging into the fabric of his jacket and it’s desperate lips and needy tongues and roaming hands and it’s fireworks in the most predictable sense and it’s chaos around them not even noticing the two enemies who just saved the world and are now publicly proclaiming their love for each other in the same place they’d argued loudly together so many times and it’s Newt, god, it’s Newt, Newton fucking Geiszler, how did he end up here.

 

And then it’s Tendo ushering them out while they can’t do anything but stare at each other like they can’t look anywhere else and breathe heavily with desire. Tendo smirks and winks before calling them crazy kids or some other ridiculous Tendo-ish thing and shoves them out the door into the empty hallway.

 

Newt considers throwing Hermann on the floor right here and now but realizes it’s probably best not to break his new boyfriend’s (?) legs right after their first kiss in three years.

 

When they stumble into Newt’s new apartment--god knows how--Newt says breathlessly, “Wait, wait, wait--before we do this, I just, I have to--we’re not going to be weird around each other for another three years after this, right?”

 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Hermann says. “Are you drunk?”

 

“No. Totally sober. You?”

 

“Adrenaline is questionable but otherwise, yes, clean on all fronts.”

 

“Cool.” Newt pushes him onto the bed and climbs over to straddle him. He pulls back quickly and says, “Fuck, wait, quick follow up: are you my boyfriend now?”

 

Hermann holds on tightly to Newt’s waist as if he might run away if he doesn’t. “Would you like me to be?” he demands desperately.

 

“Uh, yeah. Actually. I think so.”

 

“Newton, you could call me your second cousin twice removed if you’d like; I couldn’t care less. What I want right now is for you to kiss me without interruption and to find the quickest way to fuck me before I come in my pants like a bloody teenager.”

 

That’s as much of a motivator as Newt will ever need.

 

He scrambles to fish the condom he felt Tendo slip into his back pocket out (Thanks, buddy, he thinks to himself) and presses it against the palm of his hand as he winds his arms around Hermann’s neck and kisses the life out of him. Hermann lifts his hips helplessly, emitting the sexiest sounds Newt’s ever heard in his whole crazy goddamned life.

 

“Newton, please,” he begs as Newt gets lost on nibbling his lower lip and thoroughly tasting the inside of his gorgeous mouth.

 

“Right. Sorry.” He shifts them and nudges Hermann so he’s lying down fully and can rest his legs on this shitty, tiny bed the PPDC gave him. He has a passing thought that when he gets out of his place he’s gonna buy him and Hermann the nicest place money can buy and the biggest, most expensive, most comfortable bed he can find. Then he realizes how insane a thought that is, they haven’t even fucked yet and he’s planning out real estate? But god, he loves him so fucking much, they may as well be married. Newt can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else’s stupid, pointy face as long as he lives. Who else would put up with him being not-so-secretly in love with them for twelve years and never making a move until the human race is on the brink of total mass destruction?

 

Hermann’s just lying there right in front of him and he’s lovely and he’s gorgeous and he’s got way too many clothes on. Immediately Newt starts tearing off layers, throwing his shredded jacket across the room and going at his tie so hard he may have actually managed to rip it. Hermann quickly follows suit, propping himself up and tossing his jacket on the ground and lifting his silly sweatervest up over his head. Newt impatiently lunges at the buttons of his shirt buttoned all the fucking way up to his stupid neck, of fucking course.

 

“Jesus motherfucking Christ, Herms, why do you insist on wearing thirty layers on the one day I just wanna rip your clothes off with my teeth and ravish you until you see god?”

 

Hermann’s face turns bright red but he manages to mumble out, “You say that as if that’s not your daily thought process.”

 

Newt laughs as he helps Hermann tear off the button-up and shed the undershirt. “Too true, babe.”

 

Hermann blushes at the pet name but Newt doesn’t have time to make fun of it because Hermann’s pulling him close, kissing him hard and frenzied and rocking his hips up against Newt. Newt’s cock hardens when he feels Hermann’s bump up against him, and it swells even more when they both moan simultaneously against each others’ tongues.

 

“Christ, Herms, twelve years,” Newt gasps, “Twelve years I’ve waited, you endlessly stubborn prick.”

 

He fiddles his trouser buttons, quickly pulling them off and doing the same with Hermann’s horribly tailored pants. He marvels at the little wet patch forming at the edge of his underwear like it’s one of the seven wonders of the world. He leans back and kisses Hermann again, gentler now, trailing his lips over his jaw and to his ear. He whispers softly, “Turn over, baby.”

 

Hermann follows Newt’s orders, and god if it isn’t the most delicious thing Newt’s ever seen.

 

“Good. Like that. Make sure your leg doesn’t ache or anything. You done this before, Herms?” He reaches over and pulls out a tube of lube from his bedside table.

 

Hermann adjusts the pillow underneath him and bites it nervously. “Mmf...only...only once before.”

 

“Don’t worry.” Newt smiles and kisses his shoulder delicately. “I got you.”

 

“Oh, shut up and fuck me, Geiszler.”

 

“Aye, aye, cap’n.”

 

He slicks his fingers with a generous amount of lube and kisses Hermann’s neck lovingly as he presses in the first finger. Hermann gasps in response but pushes his hips up to meet Newt’s hand.

 

“Newt,” he cries breathlessly.

 

Newt hums and thrusts his finger a few times to stretch him out before adding a second finger. “Okay?”

 

Hermann holds the pillow tightly and nods shakily. He yells into the pillow when Newt adds a third finger. Newt presses inside him slowly, feeling for his prostate. When he brushes against it Hermann whimpers and pleads and scrabbles for a hold on the sheets.

 

“Newton...Christ…please, for the love of…”

 

“One sec; be patient, babe, yeesh.”

 

“If you call me by that preposterous name while you’re still inside me one more time I swear to god…”

 

Newton turns Hermann’s head and kisses the protests away with a smile. “Oh, shush. You love it.”

 

Hermann exhales and his eyes flutter shut and Newt basks in the way his mouth moves to follow Newt’s as he pulls away. He wants nothing more to kiss Hermann into total fucking oblivion but then he remembers there are probably more important matters that need tending to, such as the thing his boxers are currently quite painfully restraining.

 

When he removes his hand, Hermann keens against him and makes soft whimpering noises into the pillow. Newt quickly rips off his underwear and rolls the condom onto his dick and gets lube all over the sheets while slicking himself up but he can’t seem to give even half a shit because a second later he’s gathering Hermann into his arms and slowly, softly, carefully pushing into him. And Hermann is making the most amazing sounds Newt’s ever heard and he thinks he’ll have to get his tape recorder in here one day so he has something to listen to on long trips away from home.

 

Hermann’s gasping and begging and pushing back against Newt and Newt has to hold his hips to make sure he doesn’t push back too hard and hurt himself. He presses kisses to his lower back and trails up, scraping his teeth against his shoulder as he rocks into him and when he’s fully inside Hermann bites the pillow so hard Newt’s sure he’s gonna have to find a new one (or frame this one).

 

“Okay?” Newt asks breathlessly, his voice muffled by Hermann’s neck. Hermann nods faintly and pushes his hips back against Newt as further assurance. Newt groans and bites Hermann’s shoulder. “Fuck, Herms.”

 

“Move,” Hermann begs. “Please move, Newton.”

 

Newt gathers his strength to prop himself up and gain some leverage before slowly dragging out just the slightest bit and pushing himself back in. Hermann moans--that was definitely a moan, no matter how much he’ll deny it later--and tears at the pillow with his nails. He curses a few times and if Newt wasn’t balls deep inside him he’d giggle and tease him until he turned redder than he already is for betraying his normally stoic, Victorian persona.

 

After making sure Hermann is okay with the pressure, he starts pumping a little bit harder with each thrust. Hermann says things into the pillow and Newt wants to just pick his stupid head up by his stupid hair and hear all those mumbles and murmurs right in his ear.

 

Instead he just leans forward and kisses the back of his neck and whispers, “Be loud, dude, I want you to be loud. I wanna hear you.”

 

Hermann whines a little in response to that, and it’s quiet again for a while, but then Newt thrusts in just the right way and he feels that familiar bump of his prostate and Hermann bolts up, crying out like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Newt grins and searches desperately to make that happen again. And it does, over and over again, and he can hear voices milling outside his door but wow does he not care. He would project this on the big screen to all of Times Square just to hear prim old Dr. Gottlieb yell out his name like Newt’s his savior at the end of the tunnel.

 

“Shit, Herm--Hermann--” Newt says, his breath hot against Hermann’s neck. “Fuck, man, I’m gonna--I’m gonna come…”

 

Newt hastily reaches under Hermann’s hips and grasps his cock, shivering as he feels the precome leaking out the tip. He does quick work of just desperately pumping him, mindlessly declaring his love into Hermann’s shoulder.

 

Hermann braces himself with the pillow and comes yelling into the fabric and Newt makes a note he really hopes was internal about how he’s gonna have to work on getting Hermann to be much, much more vocal in bed. He grins as he follows soon after, thinking of just how exactly he’s going to make that happen.

 

Newt collapses on top of Hermann and really wants to be the lazy one here but has to choose the practical choice, which is being the one to throw away the condom and hobble back to bed with a wet washcloth. He flips Hermann over, the lazy bastard, and cleans him quickly, pressing odd kisses into the inside of his knee or the underside of his jaw. He throws the washcloth to the other side of the room--so much for cleanliness--and falls on top of Hermann’s chest.

 

“That was awesome,” he says before kissing Hermann’s neck obsessively.

 

Hermann hums in response and throws an arm over him. Newt ignores the clues of lethargy and kneels over him, bracing his hands on either side of Hermann’s head and leaning over him like an excited puppy.

 

“Hermann. Holy shit. Hermann. We get to, like, do that a lot. Like, all the time now. Whenever we want.”

 

“That is how a relationship works.”

 

“Relationship?” Newt’s voice turns gooey.

 

“Obviously.”

 

“So, like, if I wanna kiss you, can I just come up and like--kiss you?”

 

“If I’m not terribly busy, I suppose so.”

 

“This is blowing my mind. This is absolutely wrecking my fucking mind. I can’t believe you thought I hated you, Hermann, god, you’re so stupid--I’m so stupid--we’re so fucking stupid, I just--”

 

“Newton. Now is usually where you’re supposed to be quiet.”

 

“Right. Sorry. You’re tired. I’m wired. Ha. No. But really. We’ll talk about it later.”

 

In a matter of minutes Hermann is quietly snoring and Newt can do nothing but watch him sleep and grin like the giddy idiot-genius he is.

 

…

 

MIT offers Newt a cushy job and he takes it because hell yeah, his alma mater, no way he’s passing up a chance like that. He only goes on condition that Hermann be offered a place there and it’s not exactly a huge fight to put up to demand the university have access to the two top brains in the whole world who pretty much saved the world from imminent destruction.

 

Newt buys them the nicest place in Boston money can buy and when they move in they don’t have a piece of furniture to their name except the most ludicrous, superfluous, costly bed on the planet. Hermann splutters and demands he take it back because Jesus Christ, Newton, this must have cost more than this entire apartment but Newton just kisses him stubbornly and insists only the best for the best, Hermie, dearie.

 

So, yeah. They break that bed in pretty quickly.

 

…

 

It’s Sunday morning and they’re sitting across the breakfast table and Hermann is reading his newspaper (which Newt didn’t even still think existed in physical form) and Newt’s doodling kaiju on a napkin. Newt looks up and sees Hermann sipping from his tea delicately and smirking like the genius prick he is at something in a fucking newspaper and he’s never loved him more than in this oddly specific moment. And Newt falls to his knees and Hermann looks up, alarmed and looks as if he’s about to try and help Newt up or something stupid like that.

 

“Newton, what in the hell are you doing?”

 

“Don’t--Jesus, Hermann, don’t try and help me--hold on. Stay here. Just stay right here. Don’t move an adorable muscle in your adorable body. Just hold on.”

 

Newt runs a hand through his hair nervously and Hermann gapes down at him like he’s a madman, which, in all fairness, he probably is.

 

“Marry me, dude,” is all he can come up with in those seconds of contemplative silence.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Come on, man, it’s a proposal, I’m not asking to lick your feet. You don’t have to be all English about it.”

 

“How romantic, Dr. Geiszler. I’m swooning.”

 

“Can you take this seriously? I’m not joking. I’m totally 100% serious. I swear to fucking god. Look--” Newt grabs his jacket off the chair and digs around in the pockets, laughing triumphantly when he finds a small, velvet box. “I had rings made and everything. I’ve been carrying them around for, like, ever. I was gonna wait for the right moment, like if we went to Paris or something and the Eiffel Tower exploded or if we found a teeny tiny little harmless kaiju and kept it as a pet and it turned out Jack was actually a Jackie and she had babies and aren’t they so cute, aw, and they’re not gonna destroy the world or anything! But, uh, saying it aloud just now I’m realizing how unrealistic that is, so what’s more perfect of a moment then right now, when you look fucking gorgeous with your archaic little newspaper and your funny reading glasses sliding down your nose and you look an absolute vision in my AC/DC tee shirt.”

 

Hermann stares at him in astonishment. He reaches out and takes the smaller ring, turning it over in his hands.

 

“I had them inscribed and everything, dude. They’re gold and all, they were expensive as hell, and look--I had them made to look like Kaiju scales on the exterior.”

 

Hermann turns his over and squints at the inside. “Does this say--’idiot’? In Japanese?”

 

“Shut up. It’s cute. It’s a callback. It’s romantic and sappy and all that shit. Will you please stop looking at me like I’m some deranged wacko that broke into our home and is demanding you marry me?”

 

Hermann looks over the ring contemplatively. He slips it onto his finger and remarks, “It fits.”

 

“Duh. I know your ring size.”

 

“It does look remarkably like kaiju scales.”

 

“Don’t screw around with me here, man! This isn’t funny! My heart’s beating in my chest all funny and I feel like my face is gonna fall off if I don’t get a definite answer.” He speaks so quickly his face gets a little red and Hermann is kind of afraid he might talk too much and forget to breathe and pass out or something. “Look, we’re basically married already. We’ve lived together for, like, a year--six if you count all those years on each other’s dicks in a cramped K-Science lab--and I’ve loved you for, like, thirteen, and we have great sex, literally the best I’ve ever had, and you have the most amazing bone structure on the planet and you’re cute and I’m cute and we saved the world together, dude, we’re life-saving rock stars, that’s gotta count for something, right? We might as well have the biggest, most extravagant wedding on this side of the breach at least for the tabloids, right? Please say yes, man, or else I’m gonna look like an idiot and I’m gonna have this sad extra ring that would only fit a small child because you have, like, the skinniest fingers on the planet.”

 

“Please breathe, Newton,” Hermann says, and it’s cold, and Newt would start crying if he didn’t see the hint of a smile threatening the corner of his nerdy mathematician’s lips. “You’re going to suffocate and I’ll be ever so embarrassed to have to walk down the aisle with a corpse.”

 

Newton makes the worst squeaking noise and leaps up to his feet to throw his arms around Hermann’s neck and kiss the living daylights out of him. “You dick, you absolute dick, don’t ever make out like you’re not gonna marry me again. You’re the worst.”

 

“That was fun,” Hermann grins into the kiss. “Propose to me more often.”

 

“Dude, I’m gonna propose to you every day until we’re married in every country on this stupid planet.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s entirely possible.”

 

“Dude, we saved the world. We’ll make it fucking possible.”

 

“Point.” Hermann doesn’t bother to argue and instead presses the cool metal of his new ring against Newt’s cheek and kisses him so fervently the newspaper in his lap drops to the ground.

 

…

 

It’s wedding bells and it’s fireworks in the least predictable sense (Hermann told Newt if he pulled any of that unnecessary nonsense he’d choke him but of course Newt paid off the most expensive firework technicians he could find to make a fucking heart in the sky with colorful explosions on his wedding day, who in the world does that?) and it’s a kiss in front of all their best friends and it’s a nod from his father and a suffocating hug from Newt’s uncle and father and flowers from an ecstatic Mako and a wink and quiet promise to get them smashed later from Tendo and it’s Newt in a tux looking at him like he holds the galaxy in his tiny, cold, uninviting heart that somehow an insufferable kaiju groupie has found the code to crack.

 

It’s Newton Geiszler-Gottlieb standing at his side smiling like he’s just won a Nobel Peace Prize--no, brighter, because Hermann was there when he won that, and somehow he looks even happier now--and it’s soft fingers being threaded through his and it’s whispered promises of tomorrow which for some reason he doesn’t doubt for a single second.

 

It’s the world crashing and burning around them just enough to know all they can see is each other.

 


End file.
